The Effect of Ricin
by Wicked42
Summary: Spinoff of episode 2.15: Red Herring. What if Jane had actually eaten a bite of Julia's poisoned lunch? Slight Jane x Lisbon. Lisbon's POV.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: The only thing I own is the plotline of Jane being poisoned. The crime, the characters, and bits of dialogue belong directly to whoever owns the Mentalist. :)

* * *

**The Effects of Ricin**

They'd brought her in. The blonde chef with a love for hot spices, and apparently an appetite for murder, Julia. I wasn't convinced she'd done it, but her motive was as good as the others, and _Jane_ had been the one who'd singled her out. Never mind that Rigsby had been on his way over to arrest her anyway—the fact that Jane had backed us up before we'd even filled him in on the details was good enough for me. So I sat on the other side of the table, trying to decide if I wanted to play the good cop or the bad one, while Jane chatted amiably with our lead suspect.

I decided to cut the small talk before Jane started taking down her favorite restaurants near headquarters. "Can you start from the beginning?"

Julia hesitated, obviously unwilling to verbalize her affair, but with a smile and a nod from Jane, she continued, "It started about three months ago, _after_ he separated from his wife." I noticed how she emphasized the "after" of that sentence, as if reminding us that he'd been halfway single would make us look at her actions more favorably. I remained impassive; she could prove to be the murderer yet.

Jane cocked his head to the side a bit, "But he ended it."

"Yes," she agreed solemnly.

"When?" I avoided looking at Jane, who probably already knew the answer through mind-reading or some such nonsense.

She paused, a frown on her face as she slowly replied, "The night before he died."

I leaned a little closer, wondering if I could wrap up this case here and now. An ended affair was an excellent motive for murder, maybe even better than money. Rage was a hard emotion to control, especially when it was filtered with the tragic anguish of a broken heart.

"I went to his room at the resort," she continued, obviously seeing my train of thought and intent on clearing her name with the full story. "He was drunk." Her tone was displeasing; she was bitter about the fact that he still took to alcohol. I exchanged a glance with Jane, who swallowed and subtly licked his lips. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the suspect.

"I thought he was trying to go sober, but I guess not that night," she said, a tinge of disappointed resignation filtering into her voice. Then she straightened a little and told us, "Jeff didn't handle stress well."

I pounced on that, "Must have made you angry."

For a moment, Julia looked bemused. When she replied, it was with a slight shake of her head, "No. I accepted it. I loved him. But he was a drunk, better left alone…"

I held her gaze, reminiscing about my own experiences with drunken men. I inclined my head in approval, "Wise of you."

Beside me, Jane stood up, and I glanced at him in curiosity. At my inquiring gaze, he shrugged a shoulder, "I'm going to get a drink. Be back soon."

"I asked for a glass of water," Julia said, irritation filtering into her voice as she looked at Jane as well.

He gave her a Jane smile, "I'll get that for you, then." And he strolled out of the room, making a left and heading for the kitchen. I recaptured the suspect's attention with a nod, "He'll be back in a minute." I assured her.

She scowled at me, getting worked up now, "You think I'm entitled, and snippy, and rich. My father's a senator. I don't have to take crap from people like you."

Her words bit, but I wouldn't let her know that. Instead, I refrained from rolling my eyes and responded, "I'm just trying to figure out who killed Jeffery Barge, that's all." I held my hands up in a calming way, letting her know I meant no harm, even though I might possibly book her for murder later.

"But I didn't kill him," she looked away from me, and I nearly laughed.

"I don't believe you, Julia. Not yet," I shrugged in a way that meant _nothing personal_.

She swallowed hard, much like Jane had done minutes earlier, and gritted out, "I really need… that glass of water."

I was about to reassure her that it was on its way when I heard someone yell for help from the kitchen. I froze, glancing out the glass door as two agents ran by to see what the commotion was. I stood as well, suddenly worried that Jane was getting into trouble again, and I'd be the one getting blamed for not keeping him on a leash.

"Excuse me," I said quickly, slipping from the room before she could protest. I hurried to the kitchen, where a small crowd of agents were gathered around something. I shoved through them, noticing Van Pelt kneeling beside a fallen man.

_Jane_.

Panic clenched my gut, and then I was pushing harder than before, shouting at the agents to clear a path. When I reached Van Pelt, I bent over Jane. He was pale, eyes open and unresponsive. I placed two fingers on his neck to find a pulse, glancing around, "Call 911!" I snapped, irritated that it was taking them so long to do such an obvious motion.

"What happened?" I demanded, finally locating a weak pulse. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

"I don't know," Van Pelt responded, looking worried and frazzled. "I was talking with him while he got a glass of water, and then he just… collapsed."

I nodded to show I heard her, shaking Jane's shoulder, "Jane. Jane, look at me. How many fingers am I holding up?" I flashed two in front of his face, but he didn't even blink. I felt my throat go tight with fear, and looked up again. "Damn it, where's the ambulance?"

"En route, Lisbon," Cho appeared at my side, snapping a cell phone shut. I gave him an appreciative smile, grateful as he started clearing away the other agents. Honestly, they were gawking like this was some sort of Vegas _show_. The bastards.

I felt for Jane's pulse again, wondering if he was even conscious anymore. His eyes were still open, but he didn't move, and my muddled brain cleared enough to recognize the symptoms of ricin poisoning. I recalled Jeff, the chef who'd been dosed with that poison. Dead.

"Did he eat anything at that restaurant?" I demanded. Van Pelt shrugged, and I scowled, glancing around for Rigsby. He wasn't nearby, so I huffed in annoyance and turned my attention back to Jane.

"Jane, stay with us," I snapped, the tone of my voice making it a clear order. I knew he'd find that rather amusing, ordering around a dying man, and I just hoped he'd be around long enough to jibe me for it later.

Then Rigsby appeared beside Cho, panting slightly, "Lisbon! Julia, she's—Oh no, Jane too!"

I met his gaze sharply, "What happened to Julia?"

"She's dead, Lisbon. She's on the floor of the interrogation room," he told me, eyes flickering to Jane. "What happened? Is he going to be okay?"

"He'd better be," I growled, and just then the paramedics clambered onto our floor, rolling a gurney to Jane. The gawking agents cleared a path, and they had my consultant loaded onto the stretcher in a matter of seconds. I glanced at Rigsby, "Make sure they get Julia too."

He nodded, watching Jane with concern as Van Pelt straightened and stepped closer to him, her hand slipping into his for a second as she bit her lower lip. I gave them both a reassuring nod, "He'll be fine. Cho, come with me. You two, sort out this mess and meet us at the hospital."

Cho didn't object, and the two of us ran after the man wheeling Jane to the ambulance. We caught up to him in the elevator, and in the silence that ensued he checked Jane's vitals and met my gaze, "What happened?"

"Ricin poisoning," I replied. I was 98% positive that was the reason, and I didn't want to waste time watching them guess.

"Any allergies?"

"None that I know of."

The doors of the elevator dinged open then, and he wasted no time sprinting Jane to the waiting ambulance. I followed, Cho easily keeping pace. They didn't let me in the back of the ambulance, but I knew that would be the case, so I veered off towards my car, keys already in hand. We piled in and drove in silence to the hospital, speeding after the wailing ambulance with our lights flashing so no one would be stupid enough to get in our way.

I didn't see Jane once we got to the hospital. The nurse checked with the computer and told me that they hadn't entered him in the system yet, but she'd be sure to alert us once they did. Until then, she handed us a packet of paperwork to fill out while we waited, so they'd have at least some basic information on Jane. I took it with resignation and retreated to a row of generic waiting chairs.

Cho settled in beside me as I picked up the offered pen and removed the cap with shaking hands. His dark eyes surveyed me for a moment, and then he held out his hand for the clipboard, "I'll fill that out."

I smiled halfheartedly, "It's fine."

He didn't push, and I didn't yield, completing the paperwork swiftly and without complaints. That was one of the things I loved about Cho: he was very professional, and he took my orders without retort. His presence beside me was comforting.

Once I finished the paper, I let him take it back to the nurse at the desk, staring out the hospital window at the traffic-ingested streets just a hundred feet away. People were being wheeled in and out of the sliding doors, and there was a constant commotion that reminded me a lot of an airport, with its organized chaos.

Cho came back, face grim, "He flat-lined in the ambulance, so they shocked him to get his heart going again. They've already flushed his stomach with activated charcoal, to prevent any more poison from being absorbed into his bloodstream."

I wanted to demand why they didn't give him an antidote, but I knew from reading the case file that ricin poison had no antidote. All the hospital could do was treat Jane's symptoms as they occurred, and wait for the poison to run through his system. I clenched my fists unconsciously, nodding grimly, "Okay."

He took a seat next to me again, silent, and we waited for word on our friend.

* * *

Rigsby and Van Pelt arrived before Jane's doctor, so I settled with getting information from them instead. Anything to keep my mind off Jane. "What's happening at headquarters?" I didn't give them time to ask about our consultant.

"Everyone's pretty shocked," Van Pelt admitted, standing in front of us with her arms crossed. I pointedly ignored Rigsby's arm around her shoulders, even though they had explicit instructions to keep their relationship professional at work.

But we weren't at work, I reminded myself, and there was no harm in comforting someone at a time like this.

"How's Jane?" she asked, veering away from the previous topic to pry for details.

Cho answered for me, "He's alive. They're treating the symptoms as they come. We don't know much more than that."

Van Pelt looked relieved, and Rigsby let out a sigh, squeezing her shoulders in reassurance. I kept my eyes on her face, "What about Julia?"

Van Pelt frowned slightly, "The mortuary came and took her away—they're going to check for ricin poisoning first, since we're pretty sure that's the cause of death."

"I called the restaurant," Rigsby took over, and under my gaze became aware of his arm around Van Pelt. He hastily removed it, subtly moving a few inches away from her as he continued with his impromptu report. "I managed to scrape some details together of what Jane was doing before I came."

"And?"

"He was just watching them work in the kitchen. Several people remembered seeing him there, but only the manager saw Julia give him a bite of her lunch."

"Which had the poison in it," I said. This was what I was comfortable with: piecing together the events to arrive at the final conclusion. At least now we knew how he'd been poisoned, and I was relieved to hear that Jane hadn't been the initial target, even though he had a habit of pissing off murderers.

Rigsby nodded, and Cho glanced sideways at me, "That must be why Jane wasn't affected as greatly as Julia," he carefully maneuvered around the word "death," unwilling to draw that sort of parallel between Julia and Jane. "Smaller dose."

"That's good," Van Pelt said, a hopeful smile tilting her lips. "It means Jane will be okay."

"That remains to be seen," a deep voice said from behind them, and both agents whirled, immediately gripping their guns. When they saw it was a doctor, they dropped their arms sheepishly and backed up, letting me take the lead. I approached the man, scanning his face for further signs of bad news.

"What do you mean?" I asked, dreading the answer.

The doctor sighed heavily, looking very much like a weathered man who'd seen too much death in his life. I could relate. Oblivious to my train of thought, he answered truthfully, "Patrick Jane was subjected to a small amount of ricin poisoning. He experienced a circulatory collapse, which is usually fatal, but the dose was small enough that it merely sent him into a near-comatose state. He's been stabilized for now, but the next three days are crucial."

In other words, it was still very possible that Jane wouldn't pull through. I steeled my features and asked the question on all of our minds, "When can we see him?"

"Now, if you'd like. But don't expect him to be awake," the doctor turned and led us through swinging double doors. "This way."

Jane was lying on a bed in his own room, a breathing tube inserted in his mouth and an IV dripping nutrients into his bloodstream. His blonde curls were still as messy as ever, but his face was pale and there were heavy bags under his closed eyes. It was a shock, even though I was expecting it, but I kept my face professionally smooth, moving aside so my team could file in behind me.

Van Pelt gasped quietly, her hand over her mouth as she unconsciously moved closer to Rigsby. He shook his head in disgust and rubbed her back comfortingly, exchanging concerned glances with Cho.

I was worried too, but as I stared at my consultant, fury overpowered any other emotion. Fury at Jane, certainly—how stupid did he have to be to eat _anything _at a restaurant where poison was a common theme? But I was even angrier at the culprit, the man or woman who'd decided justice wasn't good enough, and went for revenge instead.

We stared at Jane in awkward silence for a minute, only the sound of his strained breathing filling the room, before I glanced sharply at my team, "We don't have time to waste here, not when there's a murderer running around."

It was harsh, but my team knew me well enough to see what I was getting at. The sooner we caught the bastard who had done this to Jane, however inadvertently, the sooner we got to lock him away for a _long_ time. No one pulled a prank like this to a member of _my_ team and got away with it.

"I agree," Cho nodded shortly, waiting for me to start divvying up jobs like I always did.

I wasted no time, "All right. Cho, you and I will go back to the restaurant and question those chefs again. They're obviously not telling us everything. Rigsby, go to the coroner's and see what his report on Julia is. Van Pelt," I met her gaze, hesitating for a moment. She blinked, waiting for my command. I took a deep breath and plowed right along, "you're going to stay here and keep an eye on Jane."

Everyone nodded, and I was once again overwhelmed with the competency of my team. Even without Jane, we were fully functioning, moving together to reach the correct conclusion. I smiled at them, glanced once more at Jane, and pushed my hair behind my ear, "Let's go then."

* * *

They normally didn't allow visitors past ten in the evening, but I flashed my badge and the doctor reluctantly let me stay, even though I wasn't a direct family member. Van Pelt and Rigsby had done their shifts with Jane, and I'd promised to stay the night with him and regroup with them in the morning.

I collapsed into the hard plastic chair beside Jane's bed, too weary to even adjust my position to something more comfortable. I ran a hand over my eyes, massaging away the stress of the day. We'd spent hours interrogating everyone from the wife to the manager, but no one had confessed. I really didn't expect it to be that easy, but I'd sort of hoped we could find the culprit without resorting to Jane's preferred method of a setup.

My eyes drifted to my consultant, still unconscious. According to Van Pelt and Rigsby's reports, he hadn't so much as moved during the hours they sat with him. I doubted my time here would be any different, but I liked to think that he'd appreciate our presence anyway. If nothing else, it would remind him that he still had people he could rely on in a world that had been less than kind to him.

He looked sort of pitiable, lying there defenseless, resorting to eating through a needle and breathing through a tube. It pained me to see him like this, especially when he was normally so… alive. He always seemed amused by something, as if he knew an important factor no one else did—which was usually the case. Even at my best, using my expert skills as a detective and a logician, I was always one step behind. He really was nothing short of amazing, despite how much he irritated me.

"You'd better not die, Jane," I scowled at his prone form, and I knew if he'd been awake, he would have laughed at my fierce statement. But he didn't move, so I busied myself with running through all the facts of this case, determined to catch the killer sooner rather than later.

Around midnight, a nurse came in and checked Jane's vitals. She confirmed that he was still stable, but showed no signs of improvement. She disappeared, and a while later a small female doctor came in, smiling slightly at me, "It's nice of you to sit with him this late," she said, pushing blonde hair out of her eyes as she scanned Jane's chart.

"Is something wrong?" I asked. The presence of a doctor probably wasn't a good thing, even though I could see no visible change in Jane's health.

She shook her head, "I'm just going to do a quick test to see if he's able to breathe without the tube. We don't like to keep it in for long periods of time unless he absolutely can't manage without it."

That made sense, so I stood, "I'll wait in the hall." I had no desire to see the medical procedure of removing a breathing tube, especially when it was coming out of Jane. I was only in the hall for about ten minutes before the doctor poked her head out and smiled at me again.

"I'm done. He passed the test, so we're going to keep him off the ventilator for a while and see how he does. If you notice a change in his breathing or heart rate, call a nurse immediately."

"All right," I said, reentering the room as the doctor breezed past me. Once she was gone, I glanced back at Jane. He looked the same, except now instead of a tube down his throat, he had a smaller tube taped under his nose. There was a quiet hiss that filled the otherwise silent room where air blew into his nose, giving him clean oxygen.

He looked less grotesque without the breathing tube, and I could almost pretend he was just taking a nap on his favorite couch at headquarters. I held onto that fantasy, since it was much more preferable to the reality of his situation.

I didn't realize I'd drifted to sleep until Jane mumbled something, jolting me awake. My eyes flickered to the clock on the wall, and I realized it was nearing four in the morning. I focused on him, hope coursing through my veins as I tried to understand what he was saying. It was incomprehensible, though, the vague mutterings of a man driven insane by poison. I hesitated, unsure of whether to call the nurse.

I ended up shaking his shoulder in an effort to snap him out of whatever trance he was in. He blinked, and his eyes focused on me for the first time since the interrogation room all those ages ago. I felt a rush of relief.

"Jane," I whispered, hoping he'd respond to me.

He just stared at me for another heartbeat, and then a smile broke out over his face. It was a real, honest-to-god smile, conveying happiness I'd never seen in him before. Then he croaked, "Jessica…"

I froze, eyebrows furrowing. Jessica. Even though he'd never told us before, I had a sinking suspicion she was Jane's deceased wife. My heart dropped for a second, but concern quickly canceled any jealous thoughts I may have had. It was a bad, bad thing if Jane thought I was Jessica. I wasn't a doctor, but I was pretty sure hallucinations were never a good sign.

"Jane, I'm not—"

"Did I finally die… then?" he rasped, voice rough from the breathing tube. I scowled at the thought.

"No," I replied, wondering how I could get a nurse in here to check him out without actually leaving the room. I didn't remember that there was a nurse call button by Jane's hand. "You're at the Sutter Medical Center, being treated for ricin poisoning. My name is _Theresa Lisbon_, not Jessica." His eyes started to go unfocused, and I leaned a little closer. "Jane. Jane, are you listening?"

He reached up and pulled me forward with a palm to the back of my head. My lips met his in an impromptu kiss, which lasted until I remembered where we were and pulled away. He let his arm fall, breathing a bit heavier than normal as he watched me, "I miss you… so much… Jessica," he whispered, and his eyes drifted shut while I gaped at him, too shocked to do anything more than stare.

The door burst open, and the nurse from before hustled in, glancing at the screen above Jane as she skimmed his vitals. I hastily backed away from the bed, still unable to do more than stare at Jane in confusion, even when she turned a disapproving glare on me, "Mr. Jane does _not_ need this sort of stress right now. You were given a warning when you came in to make sure his heart rate doesn't rise. I'm going to have to insist you leave immediately."

I could tell she'd already determined what happened, and was blaming me for Jane's shortness of breath. Which I supposed was fair; I shouldn't have let the kiss continue as long as it did. I swallowed and nodded slowly, glancing once again at Jane. His breathing was irregular, his face still pale, and he'd once again dropped into unconsciousness.

"Please call me if his condition changes," I asked the nurse, who grudgingly nodded, hustling me out of the room. I walked back to my car in a dazed stupor, replaying the incident again and again in my mind. By the time I arrived at home, I wasn't even sure if it had really happened, or if I'd just dreamt it.

But I promised myself that I'd never speak of it again. I owed Jane that.

* * *

A/N: This will be a 3 chapter story. Please review? :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Again, I own nothing pertaining to the Mentalist.

* * *

**The Effect of Ricin**

**Chapter 2  
**

Another round of intense questioning, mostly centered around Julia's husband, revealed that the wife, Abigail, had been seen arguing with her husband at a local grocery store. Rigsby and I took charge of that interrogation, catching Abigail as she worked out money issues concerning her newly inherited restaurant. I had Van Pelt do research on Julia's husband, still one of our prime suspects, to see if he knew about the affair. Cho stayed with Jane.

Abigail wasn't pleased to see us. I could tell she'd been crying, though she'd fixed her makeup and refocused her efforts on the bills sometime before we'd arrived. She folded her arms over the table and watched us carefully, "Do you have any news on my husband's murderer? Because if you don't, I really need to get back to sorting out these bills."

"You met with Jeffery two weeks ago, Abigail," I said, wasting no time with small talk. We were on a deadline, especially after the attorney general gave me a call this morning. Apparently Julia's father, the rich and powerful senator, was quite upset about his daughter's death. The senator blamed me for not wrapping up the case fast enough, and I was inclined to side with him. The attorney general gave my team three days to find the killer, or we were off the case.

And I wasn't going to let that happen. This was personal.

Abigail blinked in surprise, "W-what? No, I didn't."

"A market clerk confirmed the story," I said as clearly and calmly as I could, even though my patience was already wearing thin. "You were in contact with Jeff, and you were fighting."

"Look, I did _not_ kill Jeffery, if that's what you're getting at," she snapped, looking quite overwhelmed. "I-I didn't even know about this… thing with Julia."

Rigsby and I exchanged disbelieving glances, and I turned back to Abigail, "What were you fighting about?"

She looked at the two of us and huffed slightly, "It doesn't matter. It has nothing to do with his murder."

"A wife meets her alcoholic husband after months of separation and they end up fighting, possibly about the husband's mistress. And now you're telling me it doesn't relate when the husband is mysteriously poisoned two weeks later?" Rigsby stated skeptically.

"Let me guess," I picked up the conversation, ignoring Abigail's indignant look. "You ran into Jeffery at the market, and he seemed sober enough. You thought, 'Maybe he's changed,' so you started talking with him. But then you look in his cart and notice a bottle of gin, or his girlfriend calls. Maybe he makes a wry comment that sets you off. You argue, he leaves, and you decide you've had enough. Until death do you part, right?"

"No!" Abigail yelled, slamming her fist on the table. Rigsby glanced around warily, but we were the only ones in the restaurant, so no one came running.

"Then maybe you'd like to clarify for us," I pressed, hoping she'd crack. A confession would take away a good bit of the stress that had settled on my shoulders since taking this case.

"I didn't _kill_ him," she hissed, glaring at us both. I sighed and stood, deciding we'd wasted enough time talking here.

"Then you're coming back to the station with us until you're ready to tell us exactly what you two were fighting about."

Rigsby stood, retrieving his cuffs from his belt and approaching Abigail, face blank of emotion. I could tell he pitied her, but he knew what was important now, and that was finding the person who poisoned Jane. With Abigail, we'd be one step closer.

* * *

Cho and Van Pelt sat in on the interrogation with me, because it was Rigsby's turn to watch Jane. Since Cho was my best interrogator, I let him loose to see if he could get any vital information from her. Van Pelt searched her belongings for any clues, just in case. I observed my team in action, wishing Jane was there to read her like he always could.

"You're positive you haven't had any contact with Jeffery before the meeting in the market," Cho asserted, face stoic as ever.

"Yes," Abigail ran a hand through her hair, glancing around the small room nervously. Good, I thought. Let her sweat. Exhaustion was making me less tolerant than I usually was, and I was getting fed up with this dance she was forcing us to play.

Cho changed tactics, "At this point, you're one step short of being convicted for murder. Are you aware of what the punishment for that is?"

Abigail bit her lip, glancing at me in fear, "I didn't kill him, I swear."

"That remains to be seen," I said, leaning back in my chair.

Beside me, Van Pelt had frozen, her eyes reading a faded receipt, "Lisbon, look at this," she said, thrusting the paper at me. Cho, about to ask another question, closed his mouth while I read the receipt. When I was done, I met Abigail's gaze again, starting to piece everything together.

"You took a pregnancy test," I said slowly.

She stayed silent, though her hands gripped the side of the table a bit harder. I looked at the date and realized it was right before she'd been seen with Jeffery. Suddenly, I knew we had more than enough to hold her for the next 48 hours.

"You're pregnant," I slid the receipt across to her, as if showing her proof of her purchase would make her more inclined to speak to us about it. "Who's the father? Jeffery?"

She nodded slowly, "He came to my house to pick up some stuff. Things escalated… I'm so sorry I didn't say anything before, but I've been so confused… Not even my parents know yet." Tears filled her eyes. "Jeffery didn't take the news well. And now he's gone."

Van Pelt gaze was sympathetic, but I just kept thinking of Jane, hallucinating about his dead wife while he lay at death's door, and hardened my resolve, "I'm sorry, Abigail. But you're going to have to stay with us for a little while longer."

"What?" Abigail wiped the tears from her eyes with the palm of her hand. "I told you everything now, I promise! Why would I kill the father of my unborn child?"

"Anger that he refused to help you with the pregnancy, realizing the need for money and deciding to take over his restaurant to get it, we can think up plenty of—" I broke off, the chime of my cell phone commanding my immediate attention. "Excuse me for a moment," I said, stepping out of the room.

I answered it quickly, "Lisbon."

"_Lisbon,_" Rigsby's voice sounded panicked. "_It's Jane._"

"What happened?" I asked sharply.

"_He's had a seizure_. _A pretty bad one too, from what the doctors tell me. But I think he'll be okay…" _he sounded he wasn't sure, but felt the need to reassure me anyway. I ran a shaking hand through my hair, letting out a breath.

"Is there anything we can do?"

"_Not right now,"_ he replied. _"They won't even let me back in the room yet."_

I nodded slowly, "All right. Stay with him for now—I'll take the next shift."

"_You got it, boss,_" Rigsby was obviously relieved that I'd once again assumed command. I think he was afraid I'd be overwrought with worry, unable to function. I nearly scoffed at the thought as I hung up the phone. Now more than ever, I needed to keep my wits about me. The person who poisoned Jane was still out there, and we'd find him if it killed us.

* * *

Something didn't seem right. I toted my laptop into the hospital, setting it up in Jane's room as I once again got comfortable in that plastic chair by his bed. Abigail certainly had motive, so we'd kept her overnight, but I didn't get the feeling she was a murderer. And, as Jane so often pointed out, sometimes your gut feeling was more accurate than the evidence placed before you.

So, out of curiosity, I started checking into the other suspects of the case, looking at phone records, alibi statements, etcetera. I lost track of time, sitting in that hard chair rereading evidence the rest of my team had already discarded days earlier. Eventually, my eyes started to droop, but I'd just opened the interview files, and I didn't want to stop now. It was only one in the morning, anyway.

"It's not good to run yourself ragged," Jane remarked tiredly, and I froze, lifting my eyes from my laptop screen to meet Jane's gaze. He looked somewhat alert, more so than last night, anyway, but I could see how exhausted he was. I closed the computer and put it aside, leaning forward.

"Jane?" I asked hesitantly, remembering his episode earlier today. The doctors had been optimistic, since his vitals had been steady for a good fourteen hours straight. Then he'd had a violent seizure—grand mal, they'd called it—and now the doctors were telling us to prepare for the worst. Jane still had to make it through another day and a half before he'd be out of the water.

But he looked pretty decent to me, responsive and somewhat alert, acting like he'd just taken a nap on his couch and was a bit groggy waking up. That gave me hope, which he promptly beat down when he smiled slightly, "I know someone who does that too, working until there are bags under her eyes. You'd like her, Jessica. She's very stubborn, just like you…"

My face fell. Jessica. He still thought I was Jessica. This was very alarming; none of my team had reported him waking up, and I'd forgotten to tell the doctors about last time, what with the case load and his sudden seizure on the front of my mind. But now I was thinking that it was a very bad thing he was still hallucinating. I'm sure it was a side-effect of the poison, but I needed to know if it was damaging his memory or brain.

My eyes settled on the nurse-call button on the armrest of his bed, which I'd overlooked last night in my shock at his actions. I reached for it, but Jane caught my hand, squeezing it tightly, "How's Samantha?" he asked me, eyes searching my face for some sign.

I hesitated. According to the Red John case file, which I'd recently reread, Samantha was his deceased daughter. It made sense for him to ask about her, especially if he thought _I_ was his wife. I was going to tell him the truth—that I didn't know, since I'd never met either Jessica or Samantha, and since they were _dead_ now—but the eagerness in his eyes quelled any desire to bring him back to reality. So I swallowed hard and answered, "She's… she's good, Patrick. She misses you, but she's happy."

Pain flickered over his face for a second, but it was quickly replaced with evident relief at my statement. He smiled slightly, closing his eyes as he whispered, "That's good. You'll tell her I love her, won't you?"

"Yes," I replied after a moment's pause.

"Get some sleep, Jessica. You look exhausted," he told me, and after another minute his breathing evened out again, and I was left staring at him once again, this time as pity swept through me. What would happen when he finally broke through this illusion and realized that he hadn't seen his wife at all? It would crush him, like losing her a second time.

I looked at the ceiling and whispered, "If you heard that, Jessica, please ease his mind a little. Help him get through this."

I didn't believe in ghosts, and I doubted she could hear me from Heaven, but for Jane's sake I prayed she got my message.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter will be longer. Please review so I know if this story's even worthwhile? :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Final chapter!

* * *

**The Effect of Ricin**

**Chapter 3  
**

Abigail wouldn't confess, and by the next morning she'd hired a lawyer to help her out. He spent an hour talking with her in private about their options, and when we were finally allowed in, Jessica was no longer speaking directly to us. And I _hated_ talking to lawyers. So I left Cho to the interrogation and went back to my reexamination of the other suspects, enlisting Van Pelt to help me sift through information.

We sat in silence in my office, both typing away at our laptops, revisiting every file we had on this case. I'd told Rigsby that Jane had woken up and was having hallucinations, and he promised to relay it to the doctors. He didn't pry for details, and I didn't offer, but I was a bit more relaxed knowing the doctors would record the symptom. Hopefully they could help Jane.

I refocused on what I'd been reading, frowning slightly at the screen when Van Pelt asked, "Do you think Jane's going to be okay?"

I glanced up and met her gaze, nodding, "Of course. He's tougher than you think."

She bit her lip, "But what if he decides that the CBI is too dangerous, and finds another job after this?"

"That would probably be wise for him," I said honestly. "He never listens to protocol anyway; something like this was bound to happen sooner or later."

Van Pelt stared at me, brows furrowed in confusion, "You think this was inevitable?"

"All I'm saying is that you can only play with fire so many times before you get burned," I replied. He was an idiot for eating anything at that restaurant, even though I'd explicitly told him not to. But since I couldn't yell at the consultant himself, I was forced to resort to cursing his name any way I could.

But I could tell I'd offended her. She snapped her laptop shut and stood, barely looking at me, "I'm going to take over Rigsby's shift with Jane. He needs support from his _friends_ right now." I could clearly hear her omitted sentence: "W_hich obviously isn't _you_, Lisbon."_

I watched her storm out, surprised and a little hurt at her harsh reaction. This wasn't good. Van Pelt didn't know me well enough to realize that calling Jane all kinds of a fool was my coping method. And with her unfocused on the task at hand, my team was one person weaker. And that was something we couldn't afford right now.

* * *

I was still scouring documents pertinent to the case when Rigsby knocked on my door about two hours later. I glanced up and closed the case file, meeting his gaze, "How's Jane doing?"

"Better, I think," Rigsby replied, taking a seat on the other end of my small office. "The doctors think he's going to pull through."

"Of course he is," I replied, as if there were no other option. Which, in my mind, there wasn't. I simply couldn't imagine a world without Jane, and the fact that I'd been so close to just that scared the shit out of me.

We sat in awkward silence for a moment, and then Rigsby rubbed the back of his neck, "Boss, I know you're dedicated to finding this guy, but you should take a break. You're wearing yourself to the bone."

"I'm fine."

"You've been at the hospital with Jane the last two nights. How much sleep have you actually gotten there?"

I mentally calculated, but decided the resulting number wouldn't satisfy him, so I responded, "Enough. The first night they kicked me out around four, so I got some sleep at home."

Rigsby stared at me in disbelief, then shook his head, "I don't want to know."

"Good, because I wasn't offering to tell you."

He moved right along, getting to the real issue on his mind, "Grace told me you don't care about Jane." I raised an eyebrow, and he hurried to assure me. "I know that's not true, but that's what she thinks."

"She's wrong," I muttered, debating on whether or not now was the time to pull the bottle of bourbon out of my desk drawer and down a shot or six.

"Then you should have told her that," Rigsby said, reminding me of a stern parent. I rolled my eyes, but he spoke before I could defend my actions. "She doesn't know you as well as Cho and I do, Lisbon. You're not an easy book to read, especially when it concerns Jane. And Grace needs to know that you care about him as much as the rest of us."

"I—" I stopped, realizing that he was absolutely right. We couldn't solve this case without Van Pelt, and I needed to know my team had my back 100%. So I sighed and said, "I know. I'll give her a call."

"You should tell her in person," Rigsby said. "I think that's what would help the most right now."

I knew he was right about that too, so I mumbled under my breath and stood, "See if you can get Abigail to confess. Cho hasn't had any luck." I knew Rigsby wouldn't fare any better, but they needed something to do while I was gone, and that was the best I had. I didn't want to let on about my hunch of Abigail's innocence, not until Van Pelt or I found something that supported it.

When Rigsby was about to disappear into the interrogation room, I put a hand on his shoulder. He looked back at me, and I gave him a half-smile, "Thanks."

"Sure, boss," he smirked at me, and we went our separate ways.

* * *

Van Pelt was typing on her laptop when I entered Jane's hospital room, almost hesitant at facing my newest agent. She glanced up when I closed the door behind me, and for a moment she appeared unsure of what to do. Then she smiled slightly and inclined her head towards a second seat underneath the window, "Care to join us?"

My gaze flickered to Jane, no better or worse than he'd been last night, and I nodded, "Yeah."

Once I'd taken the seat, Van Pelt looked away, obviously embarrassed, "Lisbon, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you don't care about Jane, I was just—"

"Based on what I said earlier, that was the right conclusion," I interrupted, and she stopped short, staring at me in shock. "Jane irritates the hell out of me. He's arrogant and self-centered and blatantly ignores my orders. But he's also the damn best consultant the CBI's ever seen, and somewhere along the way he's become one of my closest friends." I leaned back in my chair, studying Jane's face. If he were awake, he'd be grinning right now, pleased at the compliment. But his features stayed smooth, so I felt safe to continue talking, satisfied that he was still unconscious.

"I don't know what our team would do without him. I can't imagine a day where I walk into the CBI and he's not lying on the couch, or tricking Rigsby out of some cash, or talking with you in the kitchen," I drew in a breath, swallowing a few times to keep my voice steady. "That's why I'm so angry with him. I'm furious that he'd put himself in this position, and make me face the possibility that my worst nightmares could become a reality very soon."

Van Pelt let out a breath, expression pained, "I didn't know… I'm so sorry, Lisbon."

I smiled halfheartedly, "I should have explained better in my office. You can thank Rigsby for talking some sense into me."

She smiled, and I knew we were okay again. We sat for a few minutes, looking at Jane and thinking, and then her expression brightened somewhat, "Oh, Lisbon, you have to see what I might have found."

I stepped over to her chair, peering at her computer screen. I skimmed the words, "It's Cho's notes on Jeff's financial records. I sent him to the restaurant to see if Jeff owed money to anyone else. What about it?"

She pointed to a footnote, reading it aloud, "'Eliza was turned down for a liquor license by the state.' That struck me as odd, since she's obviously a talented chef. So I did some more digging, and look what I found," she closed out that document and pulled open state files, pointing to an online record of Eliza's declination.

I gaped at the name, and the obvious conclusion that followed, "Julia's father made sure that Eliza didn't get her license. Then she'd have to go back to Jeff's restaurant and work for him."

"Exactly," Van Pelt closed her laptop. "I was double-checking my sources when you walked in, otherwise I'd have called you with the information."

I grinned for the first time in a long while, "Let's go." We couldn't waste any more time bringing in the person who'd poisoned Jane and killed two others.

* * *

"Fine!" Eliza screeched, face splotched red as she glared at us in fury. "I did it, okay? I went to Jeff's room, and when he wasn't looking I put ricin in his gin. And then I put some in that bitch, Julia's, spice for good measure. Do you know what they cost me? I've worked hard all my life, dreamed of opening my own restaurant, but all it took was one phone call to _daddy_ and my dream was ruined!" She was practically sobbing by this point, livid at her old boss and his secret mistress.

Cho didn't hesitate to put her in handcuffs, his face impassive. It had taken three hours of interrogation to get to that point, but he'd finally worn her down. Rigsby and Van Pelt stood off to the side, watching Eliza with disgust. I stood, walking calmly over to her, "Thank you for that confession. You're going to be locked away for a long time."

Then I raised my hand and slapped her across the face. I'd have punched her, but I didn't want to risk leaving any evidence of violence, lest the court catch up on it and sink its vicious teeth into me for police brutality. Eliza's face whipped around from the force of my hand, and when she turned back to me, she had angry tears in her eyes.

I leaned down to her level, my face inches away, "You'd better hope he doesn't die, Eliza. Because if he does, some ricin might accidentally slip into _your_ food."

She let out a shaky breath, and I straightened, meeting each member of my team to see if they had anything to say about my actions or words. But they simply watched me, loyally waiting for orders. Rigsby had a smirk on his face, and I could tell Van Pelt was rather proud of my threat, despite how unethical it was. Even Cho looked pleased.

"We're done here," I said. "I'm going to see Jane. Get a written confession, then go home and get some sleep. Good job, team."

They bid me goodbye, and I started for elevator. Before I'd walked ten steps, Abigail caught up to me, obviously still filling out papers regarding her release. She scowled at me, "You held me here while you followed up on other leads. You knew I wasn't guilty."

"I had a suspicion, yes," I replied steadily.

She glared, "Then why keep me for a day?"

"I had more evidence against you than anyone else," I said, choosing my words carefully to keep from enraging her further. "You were the logical option. I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience."

She took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm down somewhat, "I'm trying to understand your perspective in all of this. But that's not as easy as you'd think, so you'll forgive me for thinking that you're a mean, irresponsible sadist."

I almost laughed at the insult, "Of course. I am sorry about all this."

Abigail glanced down at the papers in her hand, "I'm almost done with this paperwork. Then I'm going to go home and start picking up the pieces. I hope we never meet again, Agent Lisbon."

"As do I," I inclined my head, and she turned away. Suddenly, I remembered something one of the suspects had told me during the beginning round of questionings. "Ms. Barge?"

She paused, looking over her shoulder at me, waiting.

"Living with an alcoholic is hard. Some never change… they don't even want to," I remembered my father turning to the bottle, resorting to abuse as a channel for his overpowering grief. I squared my shoulders against the memory, "But your husband checked into treatment two weeks ago, right after you told him about the baby. I think he wanted to be there for you and your child. That's why he ended the relationship with Julia. For what it's worth… i-it seemed like he wanted to change."

Abigail stared at me for a moment, searching my face, before finally whispering, "Thank you." Then she walked away, and I headed to the elevator, thoughts of Jane mixing with memories of my past.

* * *

It was ten thirty before I managed to get past the night nurses, but once I was in Jane's room I relaxed. It was almost over. We'd caught the culprit, solved the case a full day before the deadline, and now the only piece left was Jane's recovery. I dropped into the chair by his bed, sagging as I rubbed my temple with two fingers to ward off the headache that always seemed to come hand in hand with ongoing sleep deprivation. I was looking forward to taking a personal day sometime soon, sleeping in and relaxing for a bit before returning to the hectic life as a CBI agent.

I heard a chuckle from the bed, and my eyes snapped open, noticing with surprise that Jane was awake and watching me with apparent interest. I was instantly on my guard, knowing that he hadn't quite cleared three days yet, so it was very possible that he still retained symptoms of the ricin poison: namely, hallucinations. I really didn't want to assume the role of Jessica again; that felt… wrong.

"I could have sworn I told you to get some sleep," he remarked, voice light and amused as it always was. I was grateful he sounded so much better, but his comment made my heart fall. He'd told Jessica to sleep, not me. Which meant that he still thought I was his deceased wife.

"Jane, I'm not her," I said carefully, not wanting to break his heart. He looked confused, so I clarified. "I'm not Jessica."

"I know that, Lisbon," he replied, watching me like _I_ was the crazy one.

"But last night, and the night before…" I hesitated, not sure if I should bring up the kiss he'd given me that first night in the hospital. What sort of mind game was he playing, here? He was going to drive me insane, I just knew it.

Jane looked a bit disconcerted, which was certainly a new expression for him, "I know, and I'm sorry. I was confused, but that's no excuse for my actions."

I waved off his apology, studying him for a moment, "What made you realize?"

"Jessica," he replied simply, smiling at the mention of his wife. But he didn't elaborate, and I didn't question. Instead, I steered the conversation in a different direction.

"How long have you been awake?" I didn't think his eyes were open when I walked in, but maybe I'd just overlooked it. I wasn't exactly top-form right now, so it wouldn't have surprised me. I could practically feel the dark bags under my eyes, and I was sure I didn't look much better than Jane did at the moment.

He shrugged a shoulder as best he could while lying on the white hospital bed, "A few hours, on and off. I was surprised that no one was here when I woke up."

"Sorry about that," I replied, my voice wry in response to his hurt tone. It was a relief to fall back into our old habits, him complaining and me rolling my eyes and dealing with it. It made me feel like it was just another normal day. "I called the team together to get a confession from the woman who poisoned you."

"You mean poisoned Abigail," he corrected, and I was impressed that he seemed as sharp as ever. I relaxed a little bit, pretty certain by this point that Jane would clear the three day mark without any more problems.

"Right," I said.

"I'm rather impressed that you managed to catch Eliza without my help," he smiled at me, obviously intending his statement to be a compliment, but I just stared at him.

"You _knew_ it was Eliza? And you didn't think to tell me?" I wasn't surprised that he knew it was her; I'd always suspected that he knew who the murderer was from the first meeting, and spent the remainder of the case proving it to the rest of us. But I was irritated that he'd known and didn't fill me in sooner.

Jane rolled his eyes, "You're right, my fault. I suppose I was too busy being overjoyed at seeing my wife again to think about the case." Sarcasm dripped from his words.

I cringed slightly, almost embarrassed that I'd forgotten about his hallucinations so quickly. I hurried to move past my blunder, "Well, we got her without your help. See, good old fashioned police-work _does_ actually get results."

He laughed again, "Yes, but it took you two days longer."

"Aren't you supposed to be recovering from a poisoning?" I demanded, deciding he was entirely too arrogant for having almost died just days earlier. "There's a nurse who's going to be very angry with me if she finds I've been keeping you up."

Jane obviously didn't care about the angry nurse, although he replied, "Well, then, you should really get back to your house and leave me in peace. And get some _real_ sleep while you're there."

I knew he was worried about my current state, but I didn't need people fretting over me. Especially people who were still recovering from ricin poisoning. So I squared my jaw and said, "I'm fine."

"Sure you are. Did you know that sleep deprived people are more prone to hypnosis than someone who got a good night's rest?"

Warning lights flashed in my head, and I narrowed my eyes at him, "You wouldn't dare."

He grinned a typical Jane grin, "Not if I don't have to."

I tried to think of another reason why leaving would be a bad thing. It wasn't that I wanted terribly to stay with Jane—now that I knew he was all right, and thinking clearly, I was confident he'd be back to normal in a few days. But since he'd all but threatened me to go, I knew I had to stay just that much longer.

"I can't go home," I said, blinking tired eyes. "I can barely see straight. I'd be a hazard on the road."

Jane chuckled, obviously amused, "I'll reimburse you for a taxi."

I stared at him, my sluggish brain working to find another angle. But before I could come up with one more reason, he scootched over a few inches, freeing up some space on his bed, "Or, if you're so insistent to stay, you can sleep here."

I faltered, thrown off guard at the sudden invitation. It seemed harmless enough, but I remembered Jane's smile when he'd thought I was Jessica. He obviously couldn't let the memory of his wife go so quickly. That image in my mind, I knew I couldn't accept his offer, so I shook my head slowly.

"Why not?" he seemed genuinely curious.

"Well…" What was I supposed to say? I don't want to push myself on you when you're clearly still in love with your dead wife? I had more tact than that. But my mind stayed blank.

Luckily, Jane had always been excellent at mind reading. Understanding flickered over his face, and he gave me a different kind of smile, one all my own, "Theresa, it's true that I still love my wife. But she wants me to move on, and I love her enough to honor her wishes."

"Who said I was even considering sleeping with you?" I asked, then winced at how that statement unintentionally sounded. "I mean, sleeping in the same bed as you."

Jane shrugged, "I could see you contemplating. Come on, we'll just say it's nothing more than a guy offering his friend a place to sleep for the night."

I knew it wouldn't be just that with us, but I was tired… Tired of pretending I didn't care, tired of acting strong, tired of taking charge. I rubbed my eyes, and suddenly the bed seemed like the perfect place to take a quick nap. But to keep anyone from getting any ideas about Jane and me—something I wasn't sure I was comfortable handling just yet—I resolved to wake up in an hour and slip out before anyone noticed.

So I laid down on the bed beside him, over the covers since getting underneath them seemed too personal, and relaxed, closing my eyes as I turned my back to him. Jane's arm draped over my waist, pulling me closer, and he placed a kiss on the back of my hair. His quiet voice whispered in my ear, "Get some sleep, Theresa. Tomorrow will be better."

I had to disagree with him. Today seemed pretty damn good.

* * *

A/N: Again, bits of dialogue are taken directly from the episode, but the rest is mine. :) Hope you enjoyed this story--I tried to throw some Jane/Lisbon fluff in the end, even though I don't really like them as a pairing.

I'd love reviews, if you all can spare a few minutes of your day to give me one! :)


End file.
